Vandalism
by tiswillard
Summary: WORKING TITLE;; give me ideas. The McQuaid brothers are working on a case with some kids who find entertainment in spray-painting death threats on the walls of elementary and middle schools. Small amount of slash, enough to satisfy me. Mentions of abuse.
1. I Wish I Were Gay

**A/N: I MADE THEM TOTALLY GAY IN THE FIRST PART DDD lol, hope you enjoy. . I don't know if this will go over well. The things the guys are doing, the vandalism? It went on in my elementary school, I'm just changing the plot around. A lot. Same basic thing (vandalism and spray paint!), just wayyyy worse and stuff. Um, by the wayyyyy, you guys are the greatest. As in, anyone who's so far reviewed one of my stories. Seriously, you guys. You all made me so happy. D I actually went outside and did a happy dance with my five chihuahuas and then drank some fruit punch. . And I do mention the Happy Birthday! one-shot in here. By the way, if anyone has any good title ideas on the way, please let me know. They'll be greatly appreciated, kids. D Working titles suck major ass.**

**Disclaimer: I only own the people you haven't heard of before. I also own the vandalizing idea, sort of. Unfortunately, I don't own the McQuaid brothers, Tom Hanson, or Doug Penhall, otherwise, well... I think we all know what they would be doing. xD**

"I think you're beautiful, Tom," Doug whispered to his 'brother', Tom. "Did you know that?"

"What are you, stoned? We're on duty. At a school. We're the McQuaid brothers," Tom hesitated, looking Doug in the eye for nothing but a moment. He looked away, for fear of getting too lost in them. "You're not supposed to say those kind of things here. Especially under our circumstances."

"What, you mean with us being the McQuaid Brothers, heh?" Doug asked. "What are you doing anyway? McQuaids don't bring books to class."

"I'm looking at myself in the mirror," Tom said, biting the right side of his lower lip. "Doug, I think I'm breaking out. This is not good. Do you know how bad it gets when I get a little case of acne?"

"No, Tom, I don't know how severe a little case of your acne can get. Wanna know why? You don't get acne. You're twenty-five for christ's sake, and you really aren't a teenager. Teenager's break out, not adults. Maybe I should talk to Fuller and get you a few weeks off, just to remind you that you're no longer a confused adolescent," Doug joked. "Now, come on," he insisted, closing his boyfriend and 'brother's' locker door. "Don't look at yourself so long in the mirror. Tommy McQuaid ain't gay."

"Yea, well I am, and I care a whole hell of a lot about what I looked like," Tom pouted, looking at his shut locker door. "You're a bitch, Doug. I really think I'm breaking out. This could be serious."

"You're over-reacting," Doug said.

"Oh, you mean like when you got me a fucking Chihuahua for my birthday?" Tom asked, staring at his boyfriend in the eye, once again looking away. Curse his eyes. They were far too beautiful for his own good. "Am I over-reacting like that, Dougie?"

"Exactly, Tommy," Doug grinned. "But you love little Bianca, don't you? She's the greatest thing I ever got you, just admit it."

"Maybe."

"Now stop complaining about your acne, because there is none, as usual. You look perfect, as usual. You are perfect, as usual. Fuller would kill us if he knew we actually talked like we do at work while we're undercover, as usual," Doug said, looking at the front door of the school. "And they're here, as usual. So you have to act like a McQuaid brother, as semi-usual."

"Those are a lot of usual things, Doug," Tom said, stupidly.

"Yea, well life tends to lack in variety lately," Doug remarked, kicking his foot against a locker for no apparent reason. Perhpaps it was just, well, he was a McQuaid, wasn't he? "I won't be complaining if you try something new tonight," Doug added, winking.

"Just for that, I don't think I'm going to do anything, period," Tom told his boyfriend, fighting the urge to kiss him on the cheek. Times like this, being undercover was rather difficult.

"The McQuaid brothers!" Damian Savage mocked the McQuaid brother handshake/salute, walking up from behind Tom, who was still smirking at his boyfriend. Right then and there, his persona immediately changed from a Hanson to a McQuaid. There were days where it was a rather dramatic change, and there were days where the only difference was Tom's last name. Today, it felt pretty dramatic, but refreshing at the same time. Sometimes (well, actually, all of the time), it was fun to be a McQuaid.

"Hey Damian," Doug nodded towards him. "Marc, Tegan, Brae." They were the only kids they had to be looking for when they'd first stepped inside of the school. Truth was, Tom felt genuinely bad for them. They were all going to be arrested, obviously because Damian was, well, Tom didn't know how to describe Damian-- but all four were going to be arrested because of him, once they got enouf evidence. There must have been some nice side of him, but the rest of the time he was determined to ruin the lives of the school board with the havoc and stress of a bottle of spray paint. The only problem was that with the McQuaid brothers around, he had suddenly stopped the vulgar messages he would spray paint onto the elementary and middle school's walls. Only just random things, and at this point they weren't even that serious. Sure, a few times he decided to get a little overboard, and write the word 'fuck' on the wall, but that's not exactly what Tom and Doug were after the four for. It was about what they had been doing before the McQuaid brothers had busted into the school-- the death threats and so-forth that had been spray painted onto the walls, taking hours out of everyone's life as they attempted to scrub them off of the walls. Vulgarity was typical in these parts, and they simply _left_ that sort of thing if it was spray painted onto a wall around here. It was just that the death threats were obviously much more serious, and the younger a more immature a child was, the more it would scare them. It had just been a lucky guess that it was one certain group of people.

There was almost verbal evidence that they had done it, but even that wouldn't be enough in the end. If they totally had verbal evidence, which they didn't. There had been references, like "Remember back a few months ago, when we got away with that one threat?", but that wasn't saying that "Hey! Remember when we spray painted 'THE END IS NEAR, FUCKERS' onto the back of that one school?" Apparently, the group of Damian Savage, Marcus Savage, Tegan Wyght, and Braelyn Charbonneau, who had an obnoxiously difficult to pronounce French surname, did not find reason to trust the McQuaid brothers _that_ much.

While Damian was most obviously the ring leader, the only reason that Marc seemed to be sticking around was that Damian was his fraternal twin. Yea, the McQuaid brothers were able to identify with that, although they were much closer than Damian and Marc were. Even b_efore_ they had discovered they were gay, which had taken a while after the initial founding of the McQuaid brothers. Brae, the girlfrined of Marc and best friend of Tegan seemed to only stick around due to peer pressure. Maybe it was the fact that Marc was her boyfriend; maybe it was the fact that she obviously aspired to be just like Tegan. But Tegan was so hard to figure out, and even at this point, Tom wasn't able to figure out what to think of her. Usually, Tom had very developed impressions of a person within two weeks of knowing them. Tegan, on the other hand, just spent most of her time cracking perverted jokes. She never really participated in conversations about their habbit of vandalizing, but nor did she ever go against it. She never looked nervous, she never did much of anything when it came to that sort of thing. Otherwise, she was probably the most talkative of the group. The rest of the time, she seemed to have Damian's tongue down her throat. Honestly, above all, she seemed rather acquiescent, though she did seem rather nice. Of course, there was the venemous side to her, too, though Tom was convinced he had yet to see it in it's entirety.

"How's it going, guys?" Tegan grinned as Tom finally willed himself to tear his eyes from Doug's and look at the four teenagers who stood behind him. "Anything exciting happen in the last twenty-four hours that I may have missed out on?"

"Shut up, Tegan," Damian said. _Oh fuck, _Tom though to himself. _Tegan and Damian fight._ Every couple had problems, even Tom and Doug. Tegan and Damian seemed to incessantly have _vicious_ battles that probably always ended up with some under-aged kinky sex. If it wasn't that, there was definitely some serious rough-housing going on.

"You know, Damian," Tegan said, rolling her eyes, leaning on the locker, staying as far away from her boyfrined as she could, "not everyone in the world is such a bitch as you. Some people are actually understanding when their girlfriends call them at two in the morning, because they're parent's are duck fucks. I could be the girlfriend of any of those guys, but I'm not. I'm yours."

"You couldn't go out with anyone else but me, Tegan," Damon remarked. Once again, Tegan rolled her eyes. She looked back at her best friend, Brae, grabbed her hand, and wordlessly walked away. Tegan only turned around to look at Tom for a moment. There was something strange about her.

"Girls," Damian remarked, sounding rather disgusted at the prospect that he actually had a girlfriend, and mostly that he actually put up with her. "Sometimes I wish I just fucked guys. Must be ten times easier to deal with. Too bad I'm not attracted to them."

"Yea," Tom said, looking at the ground for a moment. Doug couldn't help but laugh a little.Tom nudged him with his elbow, and followed Damian as he and Marc made his way down the hall.


	2. Closer

**A/N: Um, yay summer? I don't know; not really anything to say for this one. I had a bit of writer's block; don't hate me. In the long run, I think I did all right with this though. And I think I have Tom totally out of character in the beginning, but it just makes it cuter when I put him next to Doug.**

"Are you _any_ closer in the case than when you first started the case?" Fuller questioned Tom and Doug. Sure, he knew that they technically weren't, but he had to ask. He always had to ask.

"In short doses," Doug said, leaning against the wall. He was watching Tom, who had his chair leaned back as far as it possibly could, simply for amusement. The only problem was that if Tom fell, it would have been Doug's obvious duty to catch him. Doug was highly tempted to step out from behind him. Second thought, seeing as Doug had this crazy idea that his boyfriend wouldn't specifically appreciate that, Doug literally pulled the chair closer, and held Tom's shoulders to keep him from falling. "Y'see, coach, every time we get close, they kind of back off. But we think that this time we're almost there."

Fuller glared at Doug. "That's what you said last time. And the time before that--"

"And the time before that, before that, before that, before that, before that, before that, _and _before that," Tom said, obviously satisfied, as he grinned up at his boyfriend. Doug patted him on the forehead, and Tom made an obnoxious show of whistling some song he must have written by himself.

"You okay, Hanson?" Fuller asked, looking concernedly at Tom. He was acting a little more Penhall-like than usual. Come to think of it, Penhall was acting a little more Hanson-like, actually.

"Oh, yea, sorry," Tom said, clearing his throat and resuming his normal persona. Or almost normal, since Tom really wasn't all that normal. Neither was Penhall... or Fuller... or _anyone_ for that matter.

"Good," Fuller nodded. "Now, if you two don't actually get a lead in this case soon-- like a really, genuine, goddamn lead that might seriously _get you somewhere_ in busting these kids, I'm taking you out of it."

"Calm down, capt!" Doug smiled. "We're getting somewhere."

"In small doses," Tom nodded, repeating what Doug said earlier. "Listen, coach. This _case_ isn't what's hard about it, it's the _people_ that are hard to deal with. Not your ordinary teenagers we have to deal with for every other case."

"What do you mean?" Fuller asked, repositioning himself in his chair.

"That's exactly the point," Tom said, lifting his head to look at the captain for a moment, before leaning it back on the back of the chair. "We have no idea. Damian's got the idea he's a major badass, Luc's only in it becuase Damian's his brother, Tegan's way out there in la-la land or something or another, and Braelyn's just along because she's there. And they won't talk. To us, I mean."

"They won't talk at all?" Fuller asked.

"In short doses," Doug said, still at the hands of the idea that this new phrase was the coolest thing. "We can get them to talk. Well, Damian, since he's such a badass and won't let anyone else talk, but he won't talk too much. Every time he gets closer to admitting it, but he never does."

"Smart kid," Fuller nodded. "So you're sure it's them?"

"Not a doubt in the world, capt," Tom agreed, watching Doug nod.

"Alright, here's the case, you two," Fuller said, lifting off of his chair. Doug pushed Tom's chair forward so he could actually comfortably look at Fuller. "I'll keep you in there for however I think necessary. If it becomes a lost cause before then, I trust you two to make the call. You can quit it before then, I don't care. I just want you two to try."

"Sure thing, coach," Doug smiled, walking to the back of Tom's chair. He nudged it with his knee. "Come on, let's go."

"Why?" Tom asked.

"Because I said so," Doug whined.

"Works for me."


	3. Sandwich Burritos

**A/N: Tell me if you have any idea what I'm doing at this point. I mean, I know what goal I'm trying to pursue in the long-run, but I don't want to rush into it. Something needs to happen before that.**

"Feel like ditching?" Damian asked, approaching the McQuaid's lunch table. They were quite the eaters, even if Tom always seemed to 'lose' his tray somehow or another. They must have been in the cafeteria far before anyone else had ever shown up. "We'll find something better to do than gym class and algebra equations."

"Who could forget!? William Shakespeare's great works of literary art, and then some actual art thrown in here and there. Oh boy, _school,_" Tegan added dramatically. Damian shot a look at his girlfriend, warning everyone that they were still in a fight. Tegan must have had some sort of nerve to say what she just had said, whether or not it had been to her boyfriend. Hell, she hadn't even noticed when Damian glanced at her. Maybe she was just really good at ignoring the fact that no one could figure her out. Tom half-wished that was just that case, and that she was just being so confusing on purpose. He wanted Tegan to just really be simple, and would eventually just turn into a regular girl. Oh, but life liked to confuse everyone a little too much, and Damian simply turned back to the McQuaids and Tom was forced to forget about Tegan.

"So back to what I was saying," Damian hesitated. "You in or out?"

"In." It came in unison, although the McQuaids were far too busy eating their food than they were paying attention to any of the four that sat in front of them.

"Cool, so let's go," Damian said, after a moment of watching the unresponsive brothers. At least, unresponsive to the fact they should have been standing up, getting ready to leave. No, they were just sitting in their seats, eating their food.

"We're eating first, Savage," Doug said, biting into whatever the hell it was that was being sold in the cafeteria that day. He leaned over his tray, in case anything fell out of the sandwich, or burrito, or whatever the hell this stuff was. Tommy was leaning over thereof lack of his tray. "Use a napkin, Tommy," Doug said, handing a used napkin to his brother. Tom only glanced at the napkin for a moment, before carelessly throwing it over his shoulder. He grinned at his brother. Swallowing, Doug looked back up at Damian. "I suggest you get some food, Damian-man."

"We eating first?" Damian asked, turning towards his brother, his girlfriend, and his girlfriend's best friend. As if it was their choice. Sure, he could give them their say, but he would never let them have anything to do with the last say, would he? Well, maybe he did. Lucas was nodding, although he was playing with something under the table. Tegan had dragged off Brae the second that Doug had suggested they eat. "I guess we are."

"If anything, we should be at this school, looking to bust whoever the hell made this food," Tom said to Doug after Damian and the rest of his friends, if they could be considered such things, were out of earshot. Doug stopped, but remembered to actually swallow before he spoke next.

"I think its alright," Doug said, looking sincere. Tom couldn't help but laugh.

"Sure, if I could figure out what it is," he smiled.

"Who cares what it is?" Doug asked. "Food is food; it doesn't need to be anything."

"I care what it is, Doug," Tom smiled, looking at the rest of his sandwich-burrito, which was still unidentified to any piece of real food. "You want the rest of it?"

"Sure thing, bro," Doug smiled, grabbing it out of Tom's hands. He took a bite without hesitating, in spite of the fact that he had just taken the last (_unfinished_, meaning still-being-chewed) bite of his own sandwich-burrito.

"Don't call me that," Tom replied. "It's not necessary when no one's listening."

"Oh, but it is," Doug nodded, taking a bite of Tom's sandwich-burrito, "because you never know who is listening."

To, in fact, display who and who was not listening, Tegan and Brae walked by them, and placed their trays across the table from Doug and Tom. Tegan spoke for Brae. "Hey, McQuaids."

"Well, hey there," Tom said, his eyes still on Doug who was still messily eating his sandwich-burrito. "Doug, if you get the stomach flu, don't come complaining to me. Do you two think the food is any good?" Tom directed his question to Tegan and Braelyn.

"I say there's no doubt about Doug here getting the stomach flu. Pretty bad one, too," Tegan agreed, pushing away her own sandich-burrito, and picking up an apple that she eyed carefully before she bit into it. "But if he's trying to get the stomach flu, then I encourage him to eat away. But if not, you can never be too careful with something in this cafeteria. Especially stay away from the shit you can't identifty; kind of like that... whatever that is we all got here today. That Doug is eating."

"Thanks for the optimism," Doug said, smiling to show his burrito-sandwiched-covered teeth. Tom grimmaced.

"Doug, swallow before you open your mouth. Didn't anyone ever teach you anything?" Tom said, offering a toothless smile.

"I _did_ swallow," Doug said, nodding to accompany his reply. "And yes, someone did teach me something. But no matter who that person was and what they taught me, I probably forgot about it within about one minute."

"Glad to hear that, bro," Tom said, as Tegan and Brae both laughed. There was a moment of silence, before Brae elbowed Tegan and pointed to something behind Tom. Turning around, Tom met the eyes of Damian. Talk about jealousy, but he decided it would have been better to pretend as if he had just not seen what he had actually just seen. Turning around, Tom glanced back at Tegan, before placing his head in his hands. Doug had come up with an idea the previous night that Tom hadn't needed to sleep. It wasn't like he had done anything to prevent Tom from sleeping, aside from the fact that he had so obviously decided that it would have been a perfect night to have a few beers and go a little crazy. Sure, it had been fun _last night,_ but now Tom just wanted to collapse asleep. In Doug's arms, preferably. In spite of the fact that Doug was, altogether, the cause of Tom's lack of sleep. It was a good lack of sleep, though. Sort of.

"Throw this away," Doug said, lazily pushing his plastic lunch tray towards Tom. You see, this was exactly why Tommy McQuaid never did use a tray. Sure, he still had to throw away any extra food, but it saved him the trip across the cafeteria to put another lunch tray in a stack of already over-flowing stack of trays.

"You throw it away."

"No, you."

"You."

"You!"

"You!"

"So, we have the food--"

"Throw this away," Tom and Doug said in unison. They were staring at each other, but each had a hand on a lunch tray that they had shoved towards Damian. They had partially done it without thinking; for all they knew, Damian would kill them for that sort of thing. That was what Damian would do, that's what the McQuaid brothers would do. But they weren't the real McQuaid brothers, because there were no real McQuaid brothers-- as much as both Tom and Doug both sort of wished that there was.

"Okay," Damian grunted, surprisingly. He picked up the tray (after setting his own down on the table, of course), sat down at the bench, and handed it to Tegan. Tegan gave an inward and fake smile, and placed it on the table. Damian looked at her, and waited for her to return his stare. Tom and Doug watched in surprise while Damian pulled Tegan by her shirt towards himself, whispering in her ear. Tegan sat there, unblinkingly and staring off into space. As usual, Tom nor Doug could tell what she was thinking. Goddamn her ability to mask her emotions, if that was what she she was even doing. It was hard to tell. What they could tell was that she had stood up, and brought what had been Doug's tray to the garbage, and threw it away, tray and all. Once she had seated herself back down at the table, the McQuaid brothers stood up.

"Let's go," they said in unison, while Doug smacked his palm against the table. Damian, who was the only one who had so far neglected to start eating his food, looked up at them in surprise.

"We just sat _down,_" he emphasized. Tom shrugged; so? Damian looked at them again. "So... let me eat here. We can leave afterwards. I swear to God, you won't have to wait that long for us to eat."

"Oh, but we will," Doug said, widening his his eyes. "Come on, we gave you a chance to eat. Everyone else started 'cept for you, Damian. Take it to go." Damian hesitated, and looked at everyone else, who was already standing up, gathering their food into their arms. Apparently, they were ready it 'take it to go'. Unfortunately, Damian was not.

"No," Damian replied simply, beginning to eat his food. Doug didn't like that, and he walked around the table, resting his hands on Damian's shoulders. Bending down so his mouth was directly next to Damian's ear, Doug dropped his voice to a low whisper.

"Come on, 'Big Bad Damian'," he half-threatened. "You can eat while we're _ditching school_. Wasn't it your idea to ditch anyway? I think it was. So we're gonna _go now_, if that's alright with you." Damian really must have been incredibly lazy. He completely ignored Doug, which seemed to blow a fuse in Doug's mind. Within a second later, Doug had lifted Damian off of his place on the bench, pushed him towards the wall, along with his lunch tray. The cafeteria had momentarily stopped to watch what was going on.

"You got a problem?!" Tom asked loudly, in order to have the whole cafeteria hear him. "Y'see, my brother was just doin' what was necessary. Ain't you ever seen anybody be lifted out of their lunch seats before?" Well, Tom doubted that anyone in this cafeteria ever had, unless someone got in a really big fight before the McQuaids had stepped foot inside of J.F.K. High. Still, they were the McQuaid brothers. Things like this were expected of them. After everyone had found out who it was, everyone just turned away and resumed eating their lunch. Tom couldn't help but smile in gratitude to himself; the McQuaids were fun.

"Let's go," Doug said, approaching Tom. Tom turned around, to see Damian glaring at them from behind, but slowly making his way to follow them. Tegan, Braelyn, and Lucas were just waiting for Damian to move.

"Well, that was a little over the edge, don't you think?" Tom asked Doug, as they stood outside of the cafeteria. Tom had his eyes glued to the door, making sure no one came out while they were talking.

"I don't like him," Doug shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. Tom smiled a little. "Plus this case is pissing me off."

"Everything pisses you off, Doug," Tom smiled.

"You don't," Doug said, returning the smile, but turning as Damian pushed through the doors, followed by his friends. Tom followed behind Doug, smiling to himself. Well, hey, at least he knew he didn't piss Doug off as much as Damian did. Or a lot of things did, at that. Tom was sure he wasn't the only one in the world who never pissed Doug off. Then again, he _did_ piss him off, though. It was just never as permanent as, say, Doug's dislike towards Damian. But, hey, that was something.


	4. Frustration

**A/N: As you can imagine, this chapter hurt my heart while I wrote it. Hardy har har. I'm trying to waste chapters here, though. And I'm running out of ideas, so help me here. xD Anyway, so what's the big deal about me only being thirteen? I mean, really-- is it **_**that**_** hard to believe? I thought it was pretty normal, actually. Awww, who am I kidding? I've got to be the only one in my school who spends all of her time reading and writing slash fictions about characters from a TV show that aired in the eighties. Also, sorry this took so long. I spent the week at my stepfather's, and all of that narrows down to the birth of Piggie and Leviathan Pangarangadu, the discovery that drunk people have leviathan bodies, guys I like laugh in their sleep and wear obnoxiously coloured shirts while taking a long time in the bathroom, and that only highschool students can successfully jam out to Bohemian Rhapsody. I missed all of my boyxboy love, but I didn't want to accidentally forget to delete something on my stepdad's computer, and forever scar him when he actually reads some Hanhall. .**

"So is there a reason you're mad at me?" Doug asked the unresponsive Tom, for about the tenth time. They'd been driving fifteen minutes, and they were almost back to Jump Street. Unfortunately, Tom had suddenly decided he no longer wanted to talk to Doug. After several minutes of violent driving-- or at least violent for Tom, who avoided potential danger when it came to automobiles, Tom finally aggresively put the car into park. Doug hit the back of his head against the seat. Tom and his little overreactions.

"Yes," Tom said bluntly, for the first time since they had left the parking lot of some elementary school as the McQuaids fifteen minutes ago. 'Yes' hadn't necessarily been the word that Doug had been looking for, but it was better than nothing, which was what he had been given before that. Doug watched Tom, waiting for a more elaborate description of why he was so bitter with him, but apparently this explanation was not coming. Doug sighed, looking out of his window and running his hand through his hair.

"Seriously, Tom--"

"We could have been done with it," Tom said quickly. Doug looked over at his boyfriend; what the fuck was he talking about? Tom bit his upper lip for a moment, and lifted his hand into the air before continuing to explain what he had meant. "The case, I mean. We could have been done with it, but _someone_ whose name just might possibly be _Doug Penhall_ decided to push someone up against a wall over lunch. _Somehow_ that seemed to make a certain _other_ someone realize that two _brothers_ who just might possibly go by the name _the McQuaids_ were not to be trusted. Hence, why _two_ officers whose names just _might_ be _Tom Hanson and Doug Penhall_ are sitting in a car that looks _remarkably identical _to the one you and I are sitting in now. Fighting. Not making a bust that they _would _have been making, if it hadn't been for the fact that _Doug_ decided to go overboard because that certain _other_ someone pissed him off."

"Oh, well..." Doug said, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, "you make it sound like a bad thing--"

"It _is_ a bad thing!" Tom spat out. "How can you not be frustrated? Weren't you the one who almost killed Damian over lunch, simply because him and this case pissed you off? If anyone, I would expect you to be as mad-- if not, even more mad than I am right now."

"Well, I've never really thought about it that way--"

"In what way would that be, Doug?" Tom obviously had a knack for interrupting Doug these days. "Because, the way I see and think about it is that there is no other way to look at it then how I'm looking at it."

"Listen, I'm sorry!" Doug shouted. He couldn't think of anything else to say. Really, what the hell was he supposed to do about any of this? Damian was just an insecure teenager, kind of like everyone else was in every high school they ever went undercover in to, and there was always problems with that sort of thing, regardless.

"Damn right, you better be," Tom said, nervously tapping his fingers on the dashboard. After a minute of staring at the radio dials, he finally remembered to take the keys out of the ignition. Finally, he finally got out of the car. Staring at the paint job, simply for something to distract him, he felt the slam of the door as Doug climbed out of the passenger side and came to stand next to him. Tom could feel Doug behind his shoulder, waiting for him to say something to him. Unfortunately for Doug, Tom had nothing to say. If Doug wanted to strike conversation, that was up to him.

"Are you still mad?" Doug asked in a small voice. Tom couldn't help but smirk a little to himself.

"Naw," Tom realized, staring at their reflections in the car window. "Just a little frustrated, I guess."

"I'm sorry, you know," Doug said, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I didn't think that was going to happen. Actually, I didn't think first. You know, I told you how they-- Damian pisses me off and--"

"Doug, shut up," Tom smiled, turning around to face him. "You're rambling. And it's okay, you don't have to explain anything."

"I don't?" Doug asked. "I mean, are you sure? You seemed kind of mad. You know, before..."

"Seriously, be quiet," Tom insisted, embracing Doug in a hug. "Now you're just being really stupid." Doug was unresponsive for a moment, but he too wrapped his arms around Tom in a too-long-to-be-normal man hug, as noted by a few innocent by-standers. "Alright, Dougie. Time to go be lectured by Fuller, as usual, because we didn't get any farther in the case."

"Are you implying that you're still mad at me?" Doug asked, following Tom, who was already walking towards the chapel.

"_No,_ Doug," Tom replied, exasperated. "Although, the more you try to pin it on yourself, I might just start being mad at you again. So stop it already."


	5. Tegan

**A/N: I couldn't waste chapters anymore, hah. Oh, and I made Tom say 'yar' because that is apparently my new favorite word. Anyway, I cut this chapter off because I didn't want it getting so long it over-powered the rest of the chapter. Oh, and I need feedback; is this becoming unrealistic?**

"Tom, stop it," Doug said, approaching Tom with two cold beers in his hand. Doug could really appreciate Fridays, even if they had once again missed making such an easy bust. Not. These people really didn't feel like trusting them, did they? "I'm not used to seeing you so torn over a case. Well, a stupid case, anyway."

"Exactly," Tom said, grabbing the beer from Doug before he even had a chance to offer it to him."It's a _really _stupid case. Which is why we should have been done with it ages ago, but we've been on it for, what? Three weeks now?"

"Three and a half."

"Glad to know you've been counting. But, anyway, why the hell is it taking us so long? I just want it to be over with, and I know Fuller told us we could drop out at any time we wanted to, but I don't like to drop out of cases," Tom hesitated. "I want to... I wanna catch those mother fuckers."

"Oh, wow," Doug said, looking at Tom for a moment. He offered his boyfriend a rised eyebrows. "You called someone other than me a mother fucker. You must be angry with these teenagers." Although the remark was obviously meant to be sarcastic, it came off sounding quite true to both Tom and Doug.

"Yea," Tom said, absentmindedly.

"Do you want ice cream?" Doug asked randomly. Tom turned to him and furrowed his eyebrows. Doug shrugged. "It makes me feel better when, you know... I'm not in the best of moods. And if you don't want it, I'll have some."

"Fine," Tom said, running a hand through his hair. Doug grinned, placing his beer on the coffee table as he almost excitedly walked to the kitchen. Tom smiled, watching Doug get just as excited as a little boy would at the prospect of ice cream. Just then, there was a knock from the door.

"Get that, would you Tom?" Doug called.

"Yar!" Tom replied, although he wasn't exactly sure why he had just replied as a pirate would have. Dragging himself off the couch, he dragged his feet towards the door, there was another knock. "Hold on!" He called, yawning as he began to unlock the door. The door creaked open, Tom not recognizing who was through the other side of the doorway for a moment.

"Hi," Tegan Wyght said, looking flushed and out of breath. She hugged a zip-up around her torso, with the hood over her head, making it hard to see her eyes, not only thanks to the hood but regards also to her black hair. Tom could make out a scratch on her face, and hole in her jeans in the dim light of the hallway. The hole in her jeans wasn't all that surprising, it was just the scab that covered her knee that had Tom taken aback. "Can I come in?"

"Um," Tom said, unsure of how he was supposed to answer to this. She wasn't supposed t be here-- by being here, she would find out that him and Doug weren't really the McQuaids, which would completely ruin everything.

"Here ya go, Tom," Doug said, from beside him. He was holding out a spoon, while hugging a carton of ice cream to his body, another spoon in his mouth. Tom couldn't bring himself to move and take the spoon from Doug. Hell, he wasn't sure if the fact that Tegan Wyght was standing in front of him, in his and Doug's doorway, had yet registered in his mind.

"I know that you guys or cops or something-- not highschool students," Tegan said, resulting in two very surprised expressions from Tom and Doug. "So, uh, could you please let me in?"

"Yea, uh, sure," Tom said, finally bringing himself to move inside. He watched Tegan slowly limp inside the apartment, looking very out of place. "Um, sit over on the arm chair," Tom instructed the girl, while shutting the door. Doug was staring at him, still standing motionlessly with his spoon in his mouth. Tom took the spook out of his mouth, urging Doug to take it in his hands instead. Spinning Doug by the shoulders, he pushed him towards to couch. Tegan had lowered herself onto the recliner, looking like she was both terribly uncomfortable and in some major pain. She was stared at Tom and Doug expectantly, who were both both staring at _her_ expectantly, Doug in between spoonfuls of ice cream.

"If you're waiting for us to talk, I don't think it's us who should be doing the talking here," Tom finally said out loud, sick of the awkward silence.

"What's there to say?" Tegan said, readjusting her leg, grimacing for a moment.

"Oh, I think there's _lots_ to say," Tom said, his eyes flicking to Doug for a moment. "Like, to start off, how you know we're cops. How you know where we live. Why you're here." Tom grabbed the ice cream carton from Doug, placing it on the coffee table, having found it distracting for some odd reason. He didn't have time to catch the look of disappointment on Doug's face. "And I'm sure the answers to all of those questions will lead to even more questions, since they usually do in situations like this. Not like we're put in these situations often."

"Alright," Tegan said, looking at the ground for a moment. "Um, well, to number one and two, I followed you. Back to wherever it is you work."

"Where we work doesn't look like a police station," Tom shot back.

"You _followed_ us?" Doug said, finally finding reason to join into the conversation.

"Yeah, well, it's kind of hard to follow you to a church every day, and not wonder why the fuck there's always at least one squad car outside of it. After a while, I figured it must have had something to do with police. And then I eavesdropped on some conversations coming in and out of there, and I was right. It was... some sort of weird police station," Tegan explained. Tom had to admit, the girl had a way for seeing through things. "And yes, Doug, if that's even your name. I did follow you guys."

"Right," Tom said, furrowing his eyebrows. "His name's really Doug. My name's really Tom. McQuaid's just... not our last name."

"You followed us _multiple_ times?" Doug asked, apparently not liking the fact that he had been followed around by a highschool girl.

Tegan nodded, now disregarding any verbal response to Doug's interrogation. "Then what _are _your last names?"

"Um, my last name is Hanson," Tom said. He then motioned towards Doug, "and his is Penhall."

"Alright," Tegan said, adding a nod for extra effect. "And just while it's on my mind; are you guys gay? Or do you guys just happen to share friendly kisses, hugs that last longer than they would between any straight men, an apartment, and most recently, a carton of chocolate chip cookie doug ice cream?" Tom fought the urge to roll his eyes while the girl smiled widely to herself.

"You're too observant," Doug remarked. Normally, Tom would have scolded him for saying that sort of thing-- only he agreed with it this time. "I don't like it."

"I'm female; I can't help it," Tegan shrugged, moving her leg, whincing. Tom frowned in anticipation, suddenly wanting that last question about why she was here to be answered. "And you never answered my question."

"Yes, we're gay," Doug said in a rush. Admitting that they were gay had become something of instict to him and Tom. He continued interrogating as if he could read Tom's mind. "And you never answered our last question; why are you here? But first, I want to know why the hell you followed us in the first place."

"I was bored," Tegan said too quickly, marking the look of disapprovement on Tom and Doug's face, realizing that that was obviously not the answer they had been anticipating, nor would they accept. "Alright. Well, technically speaking, you intrigued me. I have an eye for detail which I myself can't believe, and it annoys the fuck out of me. I noticed how there seemed to be a change in character whenever we decided to be a little bad-ass and go have our fun vandalizing-- that's why you guys were in the school, right? To catch the vandals, who I'm going to admit right now are us?" --she hesitated momentarily and watched as Tom nodded-- "Right, well, I also noticed how... un-McQuaid-y you guys got when you were alone. There were a bunch of other things, among all of which make me feel kind of stupid to say out loud, but that's basically it."

"Still too observant," Doug mumbled, more to himself or Tom than to the girl sitting in his recliner.

"I notice personality traits before I notice what you look like," Tegan paused. "I don't know, maybe I took the lecture my mother once gave me when I was younger about character being more important about looks more seriously than I should have. I barely even noticed that either of you had hair until the other day."

"It's not realistic," Tom said. The meaning of his statement was questioned by a raised eyebrow from Tegan. "People don't notice things to that sort of exact detail."

"I do," Tegan shrugged off, as if it was nothing. "I have a very vivid memory, too. I guess it's what you get from coming from a family full of starving artists, aspiring writers, photographers, et cetera. Anything having to do with the fine arts. Besides, everyone's got really strange strengths like that about them. You know, like, public speakers have the ability to gain emotion out of crowd. Therapists make people feel better. Brae has this insane ability to know immediately if something at all is wrong. People who have visions or whatever that turn out to be real. The list is actually endless."

"You're actually intuitive outside of school," Doug remarked, reaching forward for the slowly melting carton of ice cream once again. "It's kind of surprising."

"Peer pressure puts me in my place," Tegan shrugged.

Although Tom felt obliged to mention that peer pressure was not supposed to have that type of effect on anyone, he let it go. There were better times than this to give lectures about one's performance in school. "Alright, then. Back to one of the original questions; why are you here?" he asked, stealing the spoon momentarilly from Doug (seeing as he had managed to misplace his, although part of him told him that he was sitting on it), as he dug the spoon into the melting ice cream. He put the spoon in his mouth, swallowing the contents consisting of melting vanilla ice cream, along with the half-frozen chunks of cookie dough. Doug stole the spoon out of his mouth before Tom had a chance to hand it back.

Tegan was staring at the ground uncomfortably. Tom rolled his eyes, knowing her intimidation (or whatever it was) had nothing to do with the most recent actions between him and Doug. "You admitted to stalking us. It can't be that hard to tell us the reason you actually came here. Unless it was to bother us, in which case I don't necessarily think so," Tom added, with a glance at her inuries that seemed futile in company of all of what she had just said.

"It's not stalking!" Tegan rebuffed. "It's never gotten that far. Not with anyone."

"Oh, so you've done it to multiple people, not just us, now?" Doug asked, his tone hinting aggravation.

"He raped me," Tegan half-whispered, apparently in a rush to get off this topic that Doug seemed so keen to stay on. Tom made no realization of what she had just said.

"Come again?"

"Damian," Tegan said, her voice strong only for the first syllable before it dropped to a barely coherent whisper. "H-he raped me."


	6. Tegan part 2

**A/N: Hah : Something about me and Monopoly. Hah, do **_**I**_** have the best Monopoly story, **_**ever**_**. Me and brother were convinced we could play a game of Monopoly in an hour in a half. Seriously, by the last minute, we were in such a rush to win that we actually both circled around the board one whole time, and then some. It would be a much more amusing story, had you been there, but...**

Doug had just barely sprayed ice cream all over the room, luckily managing to slap his hand over his mouth first. Had Tom not been just as surprised, he would have been worried about the carton ice cream, which had been place between Doug's knees before Tegan had said anything. There was a long awkward silence, as Tegan had suddenly grown absolutely fascinated with the leather on the recliner.

"Then why the hell did you come here?" Tom finally managed to ask.

"Who else was I going to go to?" Tegan asked, still not making eye contact.

"I have a few ideas," Tom suggested. "Home. An actual police station. Anywhere but here."

"What's wrong with your house?" Tegan asked. After a moment, she corrected herself, "Apartment?"

"Nothing," Tom said, apparently very indecisive as he once again questioned her motives. "But why?"

"Because Damian'd kill me if he found out I went to the police," Tegan admitted. "And my mom's not exactly the most understanding woman in the world. I'm not exactly supposed to have a boyfriend, and the fact that he... raped me would made it even worse."

"But it's rape," Doug began to objecte.

"Obviously, you've never met my mom," Tegan said, managing a weak smile. "My dad wasn't exactly... the best, I guess you could say. Ever since, Mom's been pretty much convinced that all guys aren't worth shit. If I so much as let a guy within a five foot radius of me, I'm immediately considered a whore and she has to beat that boy to death. I'm half-convinced that my mother may be a heavily-closeted lesbian."

"But we're guys," Tom said stupidly.

"Gay guys. I wouldn't expect _you_ two to rape me--" Tegan said, trying to laugh although the obvious random turn of conversation had tensed the mood of the room. "Besides, you're not going to tell my mom."

"If your mom is so sexist," Doug said, still eating the ice cream, "then why aren't you going to an all-girl boarding school?"

"I was," Tegan smiled honestly this time. "You'd be surprised at how easy it is to get out of those places. In and out within one week."

"So you were expelled?" Doug asked with raised eyebrows, though he wasn't exactly surprised.

"I was," Tegan nodded.

"But what about the rape?" Tom said, not liking the sudden change of topic.

"What about it?" Tegan asked, returning to stare at the recliner.

"Well--" Tom said, not exactly sure what to say next. "I'm gonna call your mom."

Upon reaching for the phone, and realizing he didn't know Tegan's phone number, the girl had made an uncomfortable squall over to him-- to keep him from doing so. "You wouldn't," Tegan said, her hand on the phone. Her voice shook, and Tom couldn't tell whether the shake in her voice was a result of fear that Tom would call an unknown number or for pain the injuries that covered her body in who knew how many places were causing.

"Relax," Tom said, standing up. He took Tegan by the shoulders, carefully pushing her onto the couch, hoping he wasn't hurting her. Then again, she was acting awfully _normal_, having been she was just raped. "I don't know the number. I could call the cops, but we are cops. In the long-run, you're safe-ish. So, uh... actually, Doug, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure," Doug said, once again placing the ice cream carton on the coffee table. Tom carefully guided him outside of the room, down the hallway, and into their bedroom. He closed the door softly.

"What the hell are we going to do?" Tom said, looking up at Doug. He tried to act calm, leaning on the wall as his attempt. In the long run, the wall just seemed more like a crutch to help Tom keep his composure. Obviously, the whole 'calm' guise wasn't going over very well.

"We could--" Doug began, at apparent loss for either words or ideas. "I don't know."

"We can't call her parents, because we don't know her parents' number," Tom began to enumerate the many ways they were failing at this keeping-Tegan-safe business, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think she'll freak out even more if we say we're going to call the cops. Anything that we could do for her that might be good can't be done without her trying to kill us. The possibility of her trying to kill us, I mean."

"We're cops enough for her, anyway," Doug pointed out. There was an awkward silence. "Honestly, Tom, the only thing we can really do is let her stay here. "

"You're kidding me, right?" Tom asked stupidly. "We can't let her stay here."

"What are we going to do? Kick her out and say 'have fun out there! Hope you get raped again!'" Doug retorted. Tom didn't exactly like the fact that Doug actually had a good point. "She's not gonna exactly go to the police department. She's _definitely_ not planning to go back home. We're basically telling her to live on the streets, if we do that."

"She'd go to a friends house, then," Tom said desperately. He didn't know why he was so against keeping Tegan here for the night, he just... was. "Braelyn or... some other friend."

"I doubt it," Doug replied earnestly, on the verge of making another point that would probably run Tom out of ideas, "because unless she can somehow spend the night, or a few days, or whatever at a friend's house without the parents noticing that Tegan had showed up at this hour of night, unplanned, her mom's going to find out anyway. Really, the only safe thing that we could do in this situation is let her stay here."

"It's not safe for her to stay here," Tom said, inhaling sharply. "Maybe for her, it is. But not for us and our jobs."

Doug couldn't help but respect the fact that Tom had finally gone and made his own good point. It was his own turn to inhale sharply, only to find he had no snappy comebacks or anything at all to reply to Tom's.

"I'm calling Fuller," Tom said quickly, walking out of the room before Doug had a chance to object. He finally caught up to Tom, who was leaning his head on the doorway between the hallway and the living room. "She's guarding the phone with her life," Tom pointed out unnecessarily. Doug watched Tegan, who had yet to notice Tom and Doug talking about her from across the room. Her head was turned, and her glare, although they couldn't see it, was so obviously pointed at the phone.

"We really need a phone in the bedroom," Doug observed, even though he hadn't been the one so bent on calling Fuller-- or anyone, really.

"Definitely," Tom agreed, cuing a short silence.

"So are we going to, uhm, let her spend the night?" Doug asked.

"'Fraid so," Tom agreed, taking not a moment longer to hesitate. He stepped out of the doorway, towards Tegan. Doug automatically followed him, once again snatching up the carton of ice cream. "Right, Tegan, we're gonna let you stay here, but only tonight. Tomorrow we're gonna figure out, um, something to do with you. Is that good with you?"

"I've heard better ideas," Tegan said, refusing to look Tom in the eye. She laid down in the couch, having (thank God, for Tom's sake) discarded her shoes onto the carpet next to the sofa.

"I bet you have," Tom mumbled. "Kitchen's first door to the left-- it's pretty obvious where that'll be. Bathroom's across from it. Any questions? You need anything?"

"Nope."

"Not even a blanket? Pillows?"

"I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Positive." With that last remark from Tegan, Tom turned around and Doug looked down at him.

"So what are we going to do?" Doug asked, somehow quiet enough to keep Tegan from hearing. Tom swung around, retrieving the beers. He smiled as he turned back to Doug, nodding towards the doorway. Doug took that as a sign to head that way.

"We'll play Monopoly or something," Tom said in an equally hushed voice, making his way towards the hallway.

"You know, seeing as what we have in our hands--"

"You have a sick mind, Doug."

"Thank you."

"Mmhmm."


	7. The Morning After

**A/N: So apparently, Tom and Doug actually did end up playing Monopoly. Only it must have been a very interesting game, considering the circumstances. I feel the need to actually turn that Monopoly game into a one-shot. I could do some very interesting things with that. If anyone wants me to do it, just speak out. I'd do that any day of the week, even Wednesday. :D**

**Oh, and another little random note to amuse you all is this. My best friend, **_**ever**_**, and I were having a conversation the other day. Seeing as my best friend and I, well, are who we are, we were extremely hyper (and probably delusional). I was reading a 21 Jump Street fan fiction, and my friend (who, by the way, has never watched any episode of 21 Jump Street, and the only knowledge she has about it is hearing my constant droning about Tom and Doug) made the best remark ever. I said something like "You know what? Tom and Doug are so amazing. They don't even have to be a gay in a fan fiction, they just have this chemistry that no one else can have." (wow, Willow, way to go on the corniness!) and Evelyn (my best friend) says "You know what? I agree. Because their relationship is so deep-- even if it's not even there. It's just... so... God. Like, everybody-- even if they're not gay. I want a relationship like Tom and Doug... because they're so deep. They really know each other, you know?" And this is coming from someone who has never read anything remotely Tom/Doug-ish.**

Tom had never imagined that the sun could hurt his eyes so much, even if his eyes hadn't opened yet. No, he was laying on the bed (which seemed rather hard), perched up on something. Tom supposed it was the headboard, although the headboard seemed to have grown a great deal softer, a pulse, and an arm to wrap around him. The blanket also seemed to have shrunk to a much smaller size overnight. And then he finally realized that he probably wasn't on the bed, thus couldn't be leaning on the headboard, and whatever fabric that was on his leg was far too heavy to be bedsheets.

And with great effort, he finally opened his eyes. What he discovered was the hard surface he was laying-- or sitting on-- was actually the carpeted floor. What he had been leaning on had been Doug. Tom was sitting in between Doug's legs, his body pressed up against the right side of Doug. Tom's head had been using his shoulder as a pillow (however, it didn't hold all of the similar soft qualities that a regular pillow would have). Doug's arm was wrapped firmly around Tom's waist. Honestly, Tom had no intention to move it. Actually, now seemed like a pretty opportune moment to go back to sleep. Still, some part of him told him he'd slept far too long. Yawning, Tom only half-realized that he was groaning right into Doug's ear. This seemed to wake _Tom_ up a little more, but as he pried Doug's fingers off of his waist, Tom got the impression that Doug wasn't going to be waking up any time soon. He was out like a light.

What had they done last night anyway?

Tom tried to find a more comfortable sitting position, as he rubbed his eyes, waiting for the room to come into focus. He sat with his legs spread out in front of him, with his hands resting on his thighs. Finally, he saw the room out in front of him in focus. The fabric which had been covering his leg (until he moved it, of course), sat in a white crumple at his feet. Upon further inspection, it was discovered that this was Doug's shirt. Turning around, Tom finally looked at Doug (otherwise known as Sleeping Beauty). Doug was leaning up against the bed, his boxers half rolled up on his right leg, with only a wife-beater covering his torso. Tom looked down, to discover that he himself was only wearing his boxers. Suddenly, the room was a whole lot colder than it had been just the moment before that.

Seriously, what _had_ they done last night?

Suddenly, Tom became well aware of the Monopoly board under his feet. Yes, because that explained everything in the world. There were pieces of fake paper money scattered all over the room, along with Community Chest and Chance cards. What did a game of Monopoly have to do with _anything_? Well, other than the fact that Tom was going to have to scout the room later on today for little metal game pieces so he didn't stab his foot while walking around the room, he had no idea.

Okay, so they had played Monopoly last night. But why couldn't Tom remember it?

Good question. The answer only became totally obvious when his eyes passed over the empty case of beer, and then the aluminum cans that were littered around around the room.

Back to step one. _What the fuck had they been doing last night?_ Well, in all honesty, Tom really didn't want to know the details. All he wanted on that exact moment was a cup of extremely strong coffee to get rid of this hangover. In the meantime, he'd just let Doug sleep it off. Doug was so asleep, Tom might have feared that he was more than asleep-- but he'd felt his pulse. Doug was definitely alive.

Dragging himself off of the ground, Tom only had a sense of vertigo for a moment before everything appeared as it should have. Still, he hesitated for a moment, just to make sure he wasn't going to fall on his face or something. Finally, he was reassured, and stepped forwards.

"Damnit!" Tom hissed, picking up his foot after it hit the floor. Fighting not to lose his balance, he looked at the bottom of his foot. Sure enough, there was an indentation of... some sort of Monopoly piece. After bending down and looking closely at the carpet, he picked up the cannon-like (or whatever it was; Tom really could never figure out exactly what all the Monopoly pieces were. His hangover wasn't helping) piece of metal. Rolling it around in his hand, he was wondering how it hadn't literally stabbed him in the foot. Well, it wasn't sharp, first of all-- but, at that, how hadn't his foot knocked it over before he stepped on it?

Somehow, the idea of a fresh pot of coffee sounded like a much better idea than trying to solve the mystery of how a Monopoly piece managed to almost literally stab his foot. He wasn't Sherlock Holmes, for Christ's sake. Besides, he realized, Sherlock Holmes wouldn't even consider this a worthy case. Sherlock Holmes: The Case of How The Fuck Did A Monopoly Piece Stab An Undercover Cop's Foot Anyway?

_Every_one would want to read that book. Instant best seller. As a matter of fact, Tom should probably get down to writing that right now. It could save him a lot of hard years on the police force. Oh yes, he was looking forward to a lot of leisure time with the paycheck he was getting from that book.

Yeah right.

Tom thoughtlessly threw the Monopoly piece back onto the floor. After carefully making his way out of the room, taking large strides as to avoid stepping on any other hell-bent Monopoly pieces (Sherlock Holmes: The Case of How The Fuck Did A Monopoly 'Hotel' Even Manage To Injure Anyone At All?), Tom found himself in the hallway. He grabbed onto the walls, still unsure of how he was going to be able to maintain his balance. Yes, he had pride in himself enough to know that he probably could do it-- but he was just being cautious.

"Well, there's one less danger in this hallway," Tom found himself saying out loud. "There won't be any diabolical game pieces out here-- Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, Trivial Pursuit, Parcheesi." Nosiree. Out here in the hallway, this was real-people territory. The bedroom? _That_ was warzone. And in spite of the fact that all game boards and boxes game boards resided in were inanimate object territory, somehow real-people territory had managed to overtake those forts.

It looked as if this war was already won.

Tom finally stumbled into the kitchen, suddenly feeling much more awake when his feet touched the cold linoleum floor and the fluorescent light blared into his eyes. Oh, home sweet... kitchen. He turned to the counter, his eyes opened for some coffee grounds.

Then he promptly remembered they were on a coffee shortage.

"That's just great," he mumbled, resorting to the refrigirator. He swung open the door, crouched down, and looked at the liquid contents of the fridge. There was milk, orange juice, Pepsi, and more beer. After only a moment's hesitation, he was pulling out a gallon of milk and some chocolate syrup. Nothing like some chocolate milk in the morning-- hell, it was almost better than coffee.

After mixing the chocolate sauce with the milk, he took a long swig and returned to the refrigirator. Before he returned his 'drink ingredients' back into the fridge, his eyes scanned for something to eat. Really, there wasn't all that much. Mostly it was styrofoam containers full of left-overs from restaurants. Tom sighed, not even feeling like looking at what was in them. This case was really affecting their home life. When it came to having a real meal in their house and being able to go grocery shopping, at least. Tom placed the gallon of milk back on it's shelf and the chocolate sauce back in the door. Oh, grocery shopping. Well, at least there was one thing he was going to do after he recovered from his hangover.

Tom found himself having nothing much more to do in the kitchen than to lean on the counter. He stared at the cabinets, the stove, his eyes drawn down the the linoleum. Eventually, his eyes rested on the clock, the hands pleasantly letting him know that it was one o' clock in the afternoon.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

On the other hand, he figured he should probably wake up Doug. That might be a hard little task, but he still felt obligated to do so. Running his free hand through his hair, he slowly made his way back towards their bedroom. This time, he didn't have to count on the walls for support. All he had to worry about was waking Doug up and being stabbed in the foot by a Monopoly piece again.

Somehow, he avoided another Monopoly incident, but Doug was necessary. He placed the glass of milk on the top of the dresser, and made his way across the room to Doug. He lowered himself to the ground, sitting on his knees. He placed his hand on Doug's shoulder, shifting him into a better sitting postition.

"Doug," he said loudly. Doug didn't even grunt. Tom shook his shoulder a little. "Doug," he repeated. Doug grunted a little, but didn't move. "Doug!" This time Doug's eyes opened.

"_What?"_ Doug asked, apparently not pleased with his rude awakening.

"Come on, get up," Tom ordered.

"What time is it?" Doug asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Time to get up," Tom paused. "It's one o' clock in the afternoon, Doug." At this, Doug groaned.

"I don't want to get up," he complained. "Just let me go back to sleep."

Tom frowned. "Then at least let me get you into the bed."

"I'm not in the bed?" At this, Doug frowned.

"No, you're not. You're actually on the floor," Tom told him, snaking his arm around Doug's lower back to help him stand up.

"What the hell did we do last night?" Doug asked as his eyes opened, letting Tom help him up.

"Good question. I've been wondering the same thing for myself for quite a while now," Tom replied. Doug suddenly tripped over his own foot and lost balance, grabbing Tom's waist as he fought to steady himself. As Tom barely stood under Doug's weight, he tried to help the other man keep his balance. "Be careful, Doug."

"I'm _be_ing careful," Doug told him as he clung onto Tom more tightly.

"Try and support your own weight, would you?" Tom grunted, as he carefully lead Doug around the edge of the bed.

"My head hurts, Tom," Doug complained.

"I'd be worried if it didn't. Now, come on," Tom said, pushing aside the covers. At that, Doug practically collapsed in the bed, nearly taking Tom with him. Still, Doug lost no time in collapsing against the pillows and closing his eyes again. Tom carefully placed the bedsheets over him. "You need anything, Dougie?"

"To go to sleep," Doug mumbled into the pillow. A small smile crept onto Tom's face, and he quickly ran his hand through Doug's hair.

"Alright then. You go to sleep," Tom said quietly, making his way across the room back to his chocolate milk.

"Was already planning on it," Doug replied, and not only a moment after, his breathing had steadied and it was obvious Doug was sleeping. Tom almost envied his boyfrined for his ability to fall asleep so easily.

After he had left their room, his initial plan was to go watch some 'early morning' (early afternoon) television. Though, now that he stood with his feet firmly planted in the doorway, something seemed wrong. Tom's eyes scanned over anything that might have stuck out if it was missing. Everything was there, that was for sure. So maybe it was just the light. At that, he walked over to the window where he pulled up the blinds, his eyes squinting in the bright light.

But the room still seemed empty.

It was paranoia, no doubt, that caused him to do it. He tip-toed over to the door, his heart racing. He didn't know what he was afraid of finding there, he just knew that, whatever it was, he really was deathly afraid of finding it. As his fingers closed around the doorknob, Tom couldn't help but notice that his glass of milk was trembling slightly. He sighed, closing his eyes, willing himself to stop shaking. Eventually, his hand stopped, but there was the occasional tremble.

He readjusted his grip on the knob, shut his eyes as tight as he could, and turned the knob. _Oh, shit._ His eyes were still closed as he pushed the door open, and he was afraid of what might be there if he did open them. He was only slightly aware of the fact that his hand had began to tremble again. Suddenly, he was able to swallow his fear and open his eyes.

Nothing was there.

Tom laughed nervously at his own paranoia, reaching forward into the apartment's hallway to pull the door back closed. His heart was racing, but he tried to push the fear away. There was nothing wrong. _Yes there is. There's a lot wrong, Tom,_ a voice in the back of his mind told him as the door was finally swinging closed. _You never leave the door unlocked. Ever. You didn't just forget, Tom. Just go sit down and think about this._

He did as he was told, circling the sofa, which he dropped himself onto after placing his milk on the coffee table. Suddenly, the chocolate milk didn't seem so comforting. Tom stared into his hands, as if waiting for them to tell him what seemed so out of place.

Then it came to him.

Tegan Wyght was gone.


	8. Intense Phonebook Scouting

**A/N: I don't know if they would have been in the chapel on a Saturday night, so just improvise. Maybe Fuller just told him to meet them there, and they're the only three actually there at the time. Really long chapter. Breaking it up into two parts again. The second part might have a different name.**

"I don't know," Fuller said, tapping his pen on the desk impatiently. "It seems highly unlikely."

"Naw, cap," Doug began sarcastically. "It's perfectly normal for a girl to just show up at our door and tell us she was raped."

"It's not that part," Fuller said, beginning to chew on the cap of his pen. "It's the way you guys tell it. What she was doing, the things she said. I'm not doubting that she would show up. That's not weird at all--well, compared to the rest of what you're saying-- but everything else _is_ pretty abnormal for a rape victim."

"Yeah, well Tegan's not exactly..." Tom paused, as in if search for the right word, "_mundane_."

"What about Damian?" Fuller asked.

"What about him?" Doug asked.

"Well, the way you say Tegan was acting," Fuller hesitated. "The only thing I can think of for an explanation for that would be it hadn't been the first time something had happened between her and Damian." Tom and Doug looked at each other. "So how do Damian and Tegan act when they're together?"

"Dysfunctional," Tom muttered.

"When they're not fighting, they've got their tongues down each other's throat," Doug answered. Fuller nodded.

"I rest my case."

"Well, if it's _been _happening already-- or has happened, at least, why'd she come to us now? Where'd she go that last few times?" Tom asked, sitting up straighter.

"That's not what we're trying to figure out, Hanson," Fuller replied impatiently. "We're trying to figure out where she is. When we find out where she is, then you can ask her that question."

"Yea, but, you can see why I'd think it's important--" Tom began.

"Tom," Doug said shortly, "how's this for an answer? Wherever she went, it wasn't our house." Tom glared at Doug. Apparently, he thought that answer was a bit too 'smart-ass' for him.

"So what are you guys going to do about this?" Fuller asked, interrupting Tom and Doug's staring contest. They both looked up at him, apparently too caught up in the moment to understand what he was talking about.

"What?" they asked in unison. Fuller sighed.

"What are you going to do? About finding Tegan?" Fuller repeated. A silence followed, Tom and Doug apparently not having any idea what they _were_ going to do about it.

"You know," Doug finally said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just wait until Monday, see if she actually shows up at school. That's a start, right?"

"A start, but not a very good one," Fuller replied, leaning back in his chair. "You guys said you called her mom?"

"After some very intense phonebook-scouting, yeah," Tom replied, unsure of where Fuller was going with this.

"What did she say?" Fuller asked, the pen replaced back in his mouth. Apparently, pen chewing and recalling phone conversations called for some very serious thinking.

"That Tegan wasn't there. That she had spent the night at Braelyn's and hadn't gotten back yet," Tom said.

"Which we know she didn't," Doug continued. "Because, you know, she was at our house."

"Which probably means that she lied to go hang out with Damian. Or Damnian lied for her, I don't know," Tom said.

"Who did you tell her you were?"

"Tom McQuaid."

"Did she ask why you were calling?"

"No," Tom answered. "She did ask if I wanted to leave a message, so I told her to tell Tegan that I called. Tom McQuaid called, I mean."

"Alright, well," Fuller said, hesitating for a moment, "I think it's time you paid Mrs. Wyght a visit. I guess you should tell her that you're police officers, given that her daughter's missing. Or might be missing. And after her house, I suggest making two little side trips to the Charbanneau and Savage households."

"You mean, household of the obnoxious French surname?" Doug asked.

"If that's what you're calling them," Fuller said.

"Won't that, like, ruin our cover, coach?" Tom asked, rubbing his temples. His hangover that he had woken up with earlier this morning (afternoon?) was finally gone, yet he had been left with a pretty major headache.

"It's seven P.M. on a Saturday night, Tom," Fuller replied with a slight eyeroll. "They're teenagers. Do the math."

"Are you saying we should do this _now_? Like, just stand up and leave your office-- _now_?" Tom asked, clearly not liking this idea.

"No, Hanson. I said to do it tomorrow," Fuller said sarcastically. "Yes, do it now!" Tom and Doug sat motionlessly on the chairs in front of Fuller's desk, staring at the captain. Neither of them felt the overwhelming desire to go see anyone's parents at the moment-- honestly, neither one of them thought that this part of the case was going to be that important. As a matter of fact, they'd decided this morning that they were dropping out of it as soon as Tegan was safely returned home. Now, Tom absolutely hated dropping out of cases and Doug wasn't one to do it without reason either, but this one just wasn't leading them to anything. "Must I get out a dictionary and define the word 'now' for you two?"

"No sir," Doug said quickly.

"We're leaving," Tom said, although he continued sitting in his chair. It was _Saturday_, they had the day _off_. However, Fuller didn't seem to think that mattered much as he just continued to stare at them. Doug seemed to understand that they should actually leave, as Tom said they were going to (and so suddenly disregarded making the promise). Wordlessly, he grabbed Tom's wrist and dragged him out of Fuller's office.

--

"Is this her house?" Tom asked, staring at the pink, one-story home. In all honesty, it was adorable. Too adorable, as a matter of fact. Just like every other house on the street.

"Yes," Doug replied, staring at the address that he had written on a piece of paper. "I think so, anyway."

"Think so?" Tom asked. "Doug, we can't just think that this is her house."

"Well, I can't very well _know_," Doug snapped back. "I've never exactly been to her house before. However, it has the same address that I have here."

"On a scale of one to ten, how sure are you that this is her house?" Tom asked, tapping the steering wheel nervously.

"Now you're just being stupid, Tom," Doug sighed, exiting the car. Tom watched Doug, who slammed the car door just a little too hard. Honestly, Tom didn't know what he was so afraid of. All they were doing was going to go ask Mrs. (Ms?) Wyght a few questions.

"Yes," Tom found himself muttering to himself as he watched Doug approach the house. Doug's hands were in the pocket of his jacket, and as he reached the porch he nervously stood on the edge, his heels teetering up and down, his toes hanging off of the edge. He was staring at the car, intent on somehow getting Tom out of the car with only a stare. "You're being incredibly stupid, Tom."

At that, he automatically pushed the Mustang's door open and sauntered over to where Doug was standing on the porch. Doug's disapproving glare was burning holes into Tom, who was pretending to ignore the fact that Doug was so obviously annoyed with him.

"What's wrong?" Tom muttered in a low tone as he passed Doug on the porch. He tried his best to sound innocent, although he knew the sarcasm successfully overrode it.

"You walk much faster than that, Tommy?" Doug asked, reaching forward to ring the doorbell.

"You tell me," Tom replied, his response immediately being followed by the swinging open of the front door. As if the fast response to the doorbell hadn't been shocking enough, the plump woman with the curly bleached hair gave Tom an impression that he was at a very wrong house. Compared to Tegan's dark brown head of hair and slender figure, the two looked nothing alike. However, some of her facial and less prominent figures were similar-- their height, for one. They're eyes, which Tom had just realized were a very piercing shade of blue. Their noses were pretty similar, but then again, their noses were pretty normal, if not a little off-center. They're eyes were even both set in the same general places. So maybe Tegan did look a little like this woman.

It was then that Tom was finally aware of the awkward silence. The woman was staring at them in turn, and Tom was suddenly aware that he too was staring at her. He dug his hands in his pockets, and looked at the ground, pretending to read the woman's welcome mat.

"Who are you?" the woman asked, still staring at them in turn. "What do you want?"

Doug cleared his throat. "Ma'am, my name is Doug Penhall, and this here--" he paused, stepping on Tom's foot to make him look up at the woman, "--this is Tom--"

"McQuaid?" the woman interrupted, looking suspiciously at Tom. Well, that _almost _confirmed that this was the Tegan's mom.

"You could say that," Tom said quietly, offering a smile. There was another following awkward silence, until Tom finally managed to speak up. "Mrs... Wyght. Um, do you mind if we come in?"

"Miss," Tegan's mother corrected him hastily. However, Tom and Doug couldn't make sense of the correction and just stared at her, as if looking or waiting for some sort of explanation. "I'm not married. Anymore. So it's Ms. Wyght, if you're going to call me anything."

Doug looked relieved, as though he had suddenly doubted that they had ended up at the right house. Tom felt the same way, though somehow managed to keep his face straight. He cleared his throat, and re-stated his question. "Ms. Wyght, do you mind if we come in?"

Ms. Wyght crossed her arms over her chest, and shifted her weight to only her right foot. Tom's immediate thought was wondering how she had room to do that in the doorway, and he mentally kicked himself. That was something that Doug would more say, after they left. Nothing Tom would have ever said. Or thought. "Why?"

Ms. Wyght's words interrupted Tom's mental berating, and he gaped at the woman. Why couldn't she just let them in? He glanced over at Doug, unsure of what to do. Doug, however, was also looking at him for reassurance. So much for the idea that Doug might be able to help him here. Or help them both-- it really didn't matter.

_"Obviously, you've never met my mom. My dad wasn't exactly... the best, I guess you could say. Ever since, Mom's been pretty much convinced that all guys aren't worth shit. If I so much as let a guy within a five foot radius of me, I'm immediately considered a whore and she has to beat that boy to death. I'm half-convinced that my mother may be a heavily-closeted lesbian."_

Tegan's words rang through Tom's ears as if she were here, telling him that now instead of yesterday.

"Well?" Ms. Wyght repeated. "Are you going to give me a reason to let you in, or stand on my porch for another two hours?"

This time, when Tom looked over at Doug, he had his badge out of his pocket and opened, showing it to Ms. Wyght. "We're police officers. We're here to talk about your daughter."

Ms. Wyght grabbed Doug's badge out of his hand, and began examining it. After she seemed to have decided it was real, she moved aside and let Doug in. Tom tried to follow his partner inside of the house, but Ms. Wyght was too fast and jumped in front of the doorway. Before Tom could protest, Ms. Wyght asked him if _he_ had a badge.

Of course he did. "Here," Tom replied, digging his hand into his jacket pocket, not even bothering to open it as he handed it to Tegan's mother. The woman studied the Tom's badge for a longer time, but didn't hand it back when she had finished examining it.

"You said your last name was McQuaid," she pointed out, looking at Tom above his badge.

Tom took a double-take. "If you let me inside, me and my partner will be... glad to explain what's going on."

Ms. Wyght stepped aside, but didn't give Tom his badge back. Once she shut the door, he stood tensely next to Doug, thinking that it would be wrong to move so much as a muscle. Doug seemed to have been doing the same exact thing. Neither of them moved, barely even breathed, until Ms. Wyght was leading them to what they assumed was a family room. She threw Tom's badge onto a coffee table, and lowered herself down into an arm chair. She reached into her pocket, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. She nodded towards the couch that was across the room as she stuck a cigarette in her mouth. Tom and Doug cautiously seated themselves on the couch, not having felt so awkward in a very long time.

"So?" Ms. Wyght said out of one side of her mouth, lighting the cigarette that was being clamped down on by the other side.

"Ms. Wyght," Tom began nervously, "we work for the Jump Street program--"

"And what good is you telling me that if you're not going to tell me what it is?" Ms. Wyght interjected before Tom could even think about elaborating. He shut his mouth automatically and stared at the woman for a moment, needing Doug's knee to knock against his to remind him to continue

"We... we go into high schools, undercover, and solve cases that go on there, you know. We were at your daughters school for--"

"Are you saying my daughter's being accused of something?" Ms. Wyght asked suspiciously, her tone sounding less threatening as she burst into a loud coughing fit. Tom waited for her to stop coughing before he continued.

"Yes and no-- I don't really know, Ms. Wyght. But that's not why we're here," Tom began, not expecting to be allowed to keep talking. He waited for Ms. Wyght to say something, but she kept quiet. "When I talked to you earlier today on the phone-- when I told you my name was Tom McQuaid-- you said your daughter hadn't come home from a sleepover over at Braelyn Charbanneau's. Is that still the story? I mean, has Tegan still not come home or called or anything?"

"Yes." Ms. Wyght had stopped seeming so rude, and she was starting to listen more intently.

Tom, however, took no notice and turned his head to Doug. He had no idea how to go on with this. Doug had an inkling of an idea.

"Ms. Wyght, are you aware that you're daughter has a boyfriend?"

"I have a hard time believing that," Ms. Wyght said quietly. "I make it quite known to her that I don't like-- I don't approve of boyfriends at her age. I don't think she's matured enough yet."

"Well, we've spent the last so many weeks hanging out with your daughter, Ms. Wyght," Doug told her. "You're gonna have to believe us when we say that we have... been a firsthand viewer of what goes on between her and Damian Savage."

"Damian Savage is her boyfriend?" Ms. Wyght asked, raising an eyebrow. "Once again, Tegan would never go behind my back. Either way, Damian and his family live just down the street. I don't like him, but he seems like a nice enough kid." Tom snorted. Ms. Wyght looked annoyed. "Either way, what does this have to do with why you've come here? I don't think a cop's top priority is to report to a parent that her daughter has a boyfriend-- which I still don't believe, by the way."

"Ms. Wyght, Tegan didn't spend the night over at Braelyn's last night," Tom told her bluntly.

At this, Ms. Wyght snorted. "Yea, and I'm a supermodel." She coughed once. "I'd really appreciate it if you boys would tell me what you're doing here."

"We're being serious, and you'd understand if you just gave us that chance to explain," Tom claimed. "She showed up at our house around-- what, Doug, ten o' clock?"

"Something like that," Doug nodded. "Maybe Ten thirty. Maybe eleven. I can't remember."

"Well, somewhere around then," Tom said, turning his attention back to Ms. Wyght, who had an eyebrow raised.

"Huh," she said simply.

"Huh, what?" Doug asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, nothing," she claimed, shrugging her shoulders. "You said she showed up at... your house last night? How did she know where you two lived?"

"That's not important right now," Doug said, exasperated. He was starting to wish that she'd just believe them, but he knew that nothing would ever be as simple as that. "Now, we don't know whether or not she went to Braelyn's at first, but the point is she came back to our place, eventually, claiming that her boyfriend-- Damian-- raped her." Doug hesitated. "And she was gone this morning when we woke up."

Silence. The only sound in the room was Ms. Wyght's wheezy breathing, while Tom and Doug stared awkwardly at their shoes. It wasn't exactly the best day of the week when they had to tell someone that their daughter might have been raped, and now that their daughter might be missing.

"Get out," Ms. Wyght muttered under her breath eventually. Tom and Doug looked up simultaneously, both wondering whether they heard her correctly. Ms. Wyght cleared her throat before continuing. "I said get out. Right now. Stop lying to me, and get out of my house." Tom and Doug looked at her, unsure of what to do. "I'll call the police if you don't get out."

Doug snorted. "Ma'am, we _are_ the police."

"Well, then I don't want you here." She picked up Tom's badge again and chucked it him. "Get out of my house. Now."

Without protesting or asking a single question, Tom and Doug filed out of the room, down the hallway, and out the door. They knew full well that Ms. Wyght was right behind them up until the front door slammed behind them, making sure they didn't decide otherwise when it came to leaving her house. However, they were fully content on leaving. This wasn't expected to be a pleasant visit in the first place, it just turned out to be much worse than their expectations.

Tom was all-too aware of the eyes peering at him through the slightly parted blinds as he lowered himself into the driver's seat of his car. He stared blankly at the steering wheel while Doug slammed his door closed.

"Well, isn't she just a ray of fucking sunshine?" Doug muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"Tell me about it," Tom said, digging through his back pockets to find his keys.

"Do I have to?" Doug asked.

"Please don't."

"One step right ahead o' you, Tommy."


End file.
